Overloaded
by ancarett
Summary: Sometimes we’re all flying in the dark. Reflections on their situation during and after the celebration at the end of The Hand of God Episode 1.10. KaraLee, SixBaltar, KaraBaltar, TyrolCally.


He feels out the fault in the panel more than finds it with his tools. Around him, most of the Galactica's crew pours around the flight deck in giddy celebration. Galen Tyrol's too busy with his ships to pay much mind, but not so far gone as to abandon the bottle Cally thrust upon him when he refused to leave the shot-up Viper and join the party. 

"Come on, Chief." Her amused voice penetrates his thoughtful assessment of the repair job awaiting him.

"Just a sec, Cally," Galen replies with a distracted wave of his hand.

"That's the third time you said that, Chief," the young deckhand replies with some exasperation. "I'm off duty. You're long off duty. Let's grab some more of the good stuff before it's gone!" She settles on her haunches beside him, visibly waiting to drag him away from the repairs that aren't urgent, yet consume his attention.

Still, Galen doesn't look up, doesn't let himself be distracted from the task at hand. With his eyes on the machine and not on the crowd, it's easier to pretend that Sharon, that Lt. Valerii, isn't there. He's just a tool, a cog, a part of the greater machine that is the _Galactica_.

Of course, it doesn't work. He remains as attuned to Sharon's presence on the flight deck as to the repair he's making. He doesn't let himself think about the fact that Cally probably sees this, as well.

* * *

Sitting in the centre of a noisy crowd of pilots, deckhands and other crewmembers shouldn't be arousing. But those standards went out the airlock thanks to the potent combination of weeks of unintended celibacy combined with the close proximity of a particularly and inappropriately attractive man.

"I need to get laid," Kara mumbles, lifting the slim bottle of ale to her lips. That this forces her eyes away from the nape of someone's neck is merely a coincidence, or so she tells herself. The appeal remains and she's all too aware that he's conveniently positioned between her knees where his shoulders brushing against her legs each time he moves or gestures. Warm, muscled and close. Much too close. _Frak._ "Now. Soon. Please."

"What's that, Starbuck?" Sharon's voice rings clearly over the continued din of celebrations and Kara is surprised that she hadn't notice the Raptor pilot sidle up beside her perch.

"Nothing!" Kara downs the rest of her drink then slams the bottle down beside her on the machine bench. She puts her hand on her knee, still stiffened with bracing. "Just my leg, Boomer. I want to get this brace off."

Sharon arches one eyebrow. "Or something off, I'm sure." With that, she melts back into the crowd before she has to duck Kara's empty bottle, but not without giving a knowing look in the direction of someone whom Kara should not be thinking about. Not in that way. Oh, no.

Too late. If Kara is honest with herself, which she seldom was, it had been too late long ago, probably about the time Lee Adama walked into the brig and back into her life.

"Kara? Need another drink?" Lee smiles up at her from the crate upon which he perches in a ring of pilots and off-duty crew. They are all equal parts drunk on success and the liquor that had been sent over from the grateful crew of one of the luxury liners.

She twists her lips into a smirk. "If you're serving them up, flyboy."

Kara watches him lean forward into the centre of the circle and grab two bottles from a makeshift cooler. "How could anyone so lazy get to be a Viper pilot," Lee questions as he hands her one.

"It's not laziness, Adama. Some of us know how to conserve our energy until it's needed and let our minions do our bidding."

The nuggets grin at their CAG's mock-outraged expression. It's probably bad to let them see their commanding officer and instructor this relaxed, but she doesn't care much right now. Kara ruffles Lee's hair into an even more improbably spiked mess with one hand while she grabs the ale with the other. He leans back into her rough caress, letting his head rest against her thighs and she feels that heat surge once more.

_Frak._

_

* * *

_

He feels as if his mind's expanded. He feels infinite, as if he contains a million worlds, a billion secrets, a single purpose.

"I am an instrument of God."

"Of course you are, Gaius." She gazes at him from the hot tub, not flirtatiously, but almost maternally. Admiring. Of course, she's pleased. He's found his calling or his calling's found him. And it's her calling, her God, her destiny that's his as well.

His brilliant plan that took out the Cylon base positioned him as the saviour of humanity. Of course, most of the ship's crew was too blind to see that, cheering their pilots down on the flight deck. But they were. . . limited.

Gauis looks down. The champagne flute in his hand was empty but the bottle beside the bubbling hot tub was nearly full. She smiles knowingly, picking up the bottle with one graceful hand. "Can I interest you?" She exits the tub, clad only in a rapidly disappearing froth of bubbles.

He allows his lips to quirk into a half-smile. "Always," Gaius promises as he steps to meet her, although a niggling voice in the back of his mind questions that extravagant suggestion of fidelity to what is, on one level, only an illusion within an illusion. . . .

"It's safe now. She's gone." Cally's voice has lost the excited edge he'd noticed during the height of the party.

Now, as the flight deck cleared of all but a few determined souls, the scheduled deck crew and a team from maintenance detailed to clean up after the celebration, Galen feels the exhaustion and resentment build up inside and has to stop himself from yelling at Cally. He knows it isn't her fault, but in some complicated way his sacrifice of Sharon is all tied up in his responsibility for his crew.

Especially for kids like Cally.

If being involved with one of the pilots was wrong, even thinking about taking Cally up on her unspoken offer will earn Galen a place in a very special hell.

He ratchets the last bolt into place and replaces the cover on the access panel. Another landing gear restored to normal. Stowing his tool in the case, Galen turns to Cally with a smile. "Thanks for keeping me company, Specialist. I'm heading off for my rack now but don't let me stop you from catching up with the rest of the party. I'll bet they're off in the mess or one of the rec rooms by now. You go, have a good time!"

His smile is broad, guileless and parental. Galen is proud of that control as he watches her gaze drop as she nods.

* * *

"Need a hand?"

Kara shoves her free arm out forbiddingly as she gingerly slides off the bench. Her good leg takes the brunt of her descent but she's pleased to note that, despite the stiffness, her injured knee isn't weak or painful. Nevertheless, Lee still hovers beside her and she's annoyed.

"I can take care of myself." She hears the clip in her voice, stronger than she intended, and watches him straighten and step back. His relaxed smile evaporates and she sees the CAG instead of her friend. Good.

Even though that's what she wants, or what she tells herself she wants, it hurts to see Lee this way and she offers what passes for an apology, mumbling to the floor, "It's just I'm going crazy, not being out there in a Viper."

Sparing him a glance, she sees Lee's expression relax and lets herself smirk as he bumps his shoulder, ever so carefully, into her own. She shoves back and adds, "You know, saving your ass like I'm used to doing."

He wraps his arm around her shoulder and, oh, for a minute she feels it and -- Frak -- she really needs to get laid if she's getting all worked up over Lee. Kara casts around for a way to end this incongruous intimacy, here in the hallway off the flight deck leading towards the pilots' quarters.

"Up for a game or all worn out from your fancy flying, Apollo?"

Lee cracks his knuckles and grins. "I'm feeling lucky, so, yeah, sure. Just going to shower, first."

"Meet you there, then," she says and begins to pick up the pace.

"Wait."

She turns and raises one imperious eyebrow. "What, oh mighty hero?"

Lee's grin widens. "I like that. Remind me to remind you about those words next time we're out on CAP." Kara reaches out to swat at him and he ducks, laughing. "No, seriously, if you're not up to a game of Triad, we could just hang in the quarters or catch up on our sleep, even. . . ." His voice trails away and for a moment Kara wonders if he's feeling something as inappropriate as she's been. _Frak._

She retreats to flippancy, seeking safety in the familiar routine. "Since when have I ever been too tired to take all your cubits and then some, Lee? Prepare to be fleeced, that is," she lets her eyes rake up and down his body in seeming disdain, "if you're man enough to come and play. But if you're too tired, I'll understand."

"Frak off, Starbuck. I'll meet you there and take everything you've got. Like I said, I'm feeling lucky." As they approach their quarters, he peels off his flight suit and she passes onwards, feeling as if she's had a particularly close miss.

Walking jauntily down the corridor, she turns the corner and nearly runs into a glassy-eyed Gaius Baltar. "Oops, sorry Doc."

He starts in surprise and blinks a few times before he seems to focus on her figure before him, before his eyes travel upwards to her face. "Ah, Lieutenant. Kara. How pleasant to see you! Have you been off celebrating with," he gestures languidly with one hand, "the heroes of the day?"

"What, is the brilliant Dr. Baltar feeling left out?"

"No! No! Not at all. That is, not really. . . ." he fumbles for words and she plays with the idea of tying him up in knots. For such a brilliant man, he can be incredibly easy to discomfit.

But the rec room door beckons just a short distance ahead. Kara can hear the voices of others, settling in for a raucous round of bets, booze and banter. And the thought of a rematch against Gaius Baltar is tempting.

She notices him eying her torso and considers flashing him. Either that or belting him. But at least this flirtation wouldn't be inappropriate. He might be a means to an end. An instrument of expiation, redirection and release. An easy target.

"Come with me, Doc." Kara takes Baltar by the arm. "There's another card game starting up and I think you need to let off some steam."

* * *

Gaius slips his arm, with some difficulty, out of Kara's hold. A pilot, he reminds himself, and stronger than she appears. Seeking to take control of the situation, assert himself, he places his hand in the small of her back as they step through the hatch. The five crewmembers sitting around the table are mostly unfamiliar faces and quiet as he steps up to the table, excepting for Lt. Gaeta who flushes and flounders as he commandeers a chair for "Doctor Baltar." Kara drops into the seat beside him with a wolfish look in his direction.

Gaius accepts it as his due. After all, he is an instrument of God.


End file.
